Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

For all my hard riding, nevertheless, I had blooded my sword only once, in a fleeting skirmish with some fleeing Cornishmen, by the time we reached the abandoned gold mines at Dolaucothi. Huw Strongarm had arrived ahead of us, I knew, because word had come back to me the previous day, from the leading party of Llewellyn's bowmen, who were ranging far in advance of our troopers in the valleys below. They had made contact with Huw's people, who were ranged among the hills to the north and east of the valley closest to the gold mines. Llewellyn's forces had occupied the southern and western slopes, keeping behind the crests and exercising great care to ensure that the mob of Cornish and mercenary levies in the valley remained unaware of their presence until the infantry and heavy cavalry had arrived to seal all the exits. Confident of Philip's ability to marshal our main forces, I kept to the higher valleys, in the hope of being able to bring my Scouts to a hillside position that would allow us to strike downward.

We were within sight of the last ridge remaining between us and the site of the anticipated battle, however, when a storm of noise erupted ahead of us, and I knew that someone had been unable to wait for the proper moment I never discovered who or what caused the premature outbreak of fighting, but the rapidly swelling noise told me clearly that battle had been joined in earnest Cursing with frustration, I signalled to my men and led them forward as quickly as we could go.

Unfortunately, the terrain in which we found ourselves precisely at that time made it impossible for us to build momentum, and our advance quickly lost all coherence as men and horses surged this way and that among loose boulders and deep scored gullies that defied efficient progress. I had an immediate lesson in why and how cavalry is useless in mountainous terrain. I set Germanicus at an ascending track that looked like a wide and much used game path, but even as his massive haunches thrust us up the hillside, the men on either side of me had to fall back as the track narrowed rapidly and finally ended at the precipitous edge of a ravine. I reined him in hard and swung him left again, downhill, and had to lean far back in my saddle, braced hard in my stirrups, as he picked his way delicately downward, following the ravine's edge. I could hear someone else coming down behind me, but I did not look back to see who it was; I was too busy gauging the confusion among the other Scouts scattered along the hillsides and the valley floor below me.

I found a place where I could cross the ravine, and after that the going improved slightly, so that I was able to make better speed towards the crest of the ridge that concealed the fighting. I came to a tumbled rock pile just beneath the crest and Germanicus slowed again, before picking his way around the pile and gaining a flat surface that edged another ravine, this one small and shallow enough to leap. I stopped him at the lip and turned him around, leading him back as far as I could to give him at least a few paces before he launched himself. Then, as he surged forward again and settled himself for the leap, I saw a man come into sudden view above me, on a ledge above the spot where we would land. He held a spear, angled back for the throw; the leading fingers of his left hand were pointed at me as he balanced himself and then launched his missile. It was a long, heavy spear, and its shaft was warped, so that as it spun in flight, its butt end wavered in a circular motion. I saw the long, sharp, barbed head clearly as it arced towards me, and there was nothing I could do to avoid it as my mount leaped clear of the ground and sailed forward. As we rose in that great, uncoiling leap, the spear's angle of flight steepened rapidly and the weapon fell away in front of me. I had just begun to breathe a prayer of thanks when I heard it strike my horse. It hit with a solid, wrenching sound. I felt the great beast beneath me flinch in mid air as his head snapped back and he grunted in agony. Then his knees hit the ground on the far side and he fell forward, throwing me over his head.

So stark, so agonizingly detailed was my vision of what was occurring that it seemed time itself had slowed down, enabling me to retain all of my faculties and react instantaneously. I landed, somehow, on my feet, sprawling forward but not falling; my sword hilt was already in my hand without my being aware of having unhooked it. I stripped away the scabbard and threw myself at the slope, bounding upward to where the spear thrower crouched, axe now in hand, waiting for me. I knew Germanicus, my faithful friend of many years, lay dead or dying behind me, but I did not look at him. I concentrated only upon scrambling up the steep slope to the top of the knoll. His killer rushed forward as soon as I arrived, to cut me down like a tree, but I was still possessed by the same preternatural awareness that had come upon me earlier and I skipped away easily from his clumsy, flailing rush. His scything blow came nowhere close to me, and the edge of his enormous axe hit the ground where I had been, striking sparks from the stone. The force of his swing had unbalanced him and as he staggered forward, trying to right himself, the short sheepskin vest that was his only upper body covering flapped up and forward, baring his arched back. I sprang towards him then and smashed him with a full, two handed, overarm swing that caught him clean edged and cleaved through his waist, a cut so clean and deep that, in pulling my blade away, I sliced through the guts of him and cut him in half. It may have been the rage that fuelled me, but I have never struck any other man as hard or as savagely as I did that man, and the long, sharp tongue of the skystone sword sliced through him so easily that he screamed long after he had seen his severed lower half kicking in front of him.

I stepped back from him, unsurprised and unimpressed, and then I heard running steps approaching. I glanced over my shoulder and saw three of his companions rushing at me, one with a spear and two with short, Roman style swords. Almost without thinking I struck the head from the thrusting spear and spun on my right heel, whipping the sword about again in a complete circle to decapitate the spearman. As his body reeled off to one side, I dropped to my right knee and drew back my sword arm so that my hand almost grazed the ground by my ankle. The first sword bearer was coming on much too quickly and had realized his error, but before he could slow down he died from a long, stabbing thrust beneath his breastbone. I jerked my point free, sprang to my feet again and launched myself at the third man. To his credit, he hunched his shoulders and, throwing up the small round shield he carried, came straight towards me. He was helmetless, and I cleaved his skull before his short sword could begin to come anywhere close.

Then I was alone on top of the knoll, whirling again to face the sound of feet scrabbling against the stony surface of the hill's flank. But even as I began to launch myself towards the sounds, my sword arm whirling high, I saw the horsehair crest of one of my own helmets and then Donuil's face surged into view beneath it. I grounded my point immediately and reached out to pull him up to join me, and we both stood wordlessly, looking at the carnage around us. Small knots of men were fighting everywhere, but the enemy were fighting with the desperation of doomed men and they were dying quickly, in large numbers, most of them picked off by the deadly arrows being fired from the ridge above us. One massive, huge bellied man, swinging a long, clumsy looking blade, was thrown into a gully by the force of an arrow that struck him just above the ear, plucking him off his feet and hurling him aside as though he were weightless.

I became aware then that Donuil was shouting at me. There was noise everywhere, and apparently I had been deaf to all of it for some time. I shook my head and forced myself to listen. Donuil was asking me if I was hurt, or wounded, and that surprised me until I looked down to see myself covered in crimson; my armour, my tunic, my arms and hands and the sword I gripped were all running with blood, and I experienced a surge of fear as I thought, for a moment, that all of it was mine. But I had escaped unscathed.